User blog:WayfinderOwl/BTM: 'Tis The Season 3
Now We're Getting Somewhere We were constantly hitting a dead end. Our biggest question was; how do you create Scrooge’s memories on a stage without a budget? The entire club lay on the stage, staring up at the high ceilings above. We had already thrown around ideas that half the stage should be covered by curtains, while those not performing arranged the set. “And how are we going to get more kids to sign up?” said Ivan, in a sleepy drawl. “Everyone thinks we are freaks and losers.” “You are freaks and losers,” Gary informed him. “Gary,” Becky snapped. Gary sat up, shooting her a look. He pointed at Eunice. “Fat and weird.” Then to Ivan. “Insomniac.” Then to Sarah. “Dwarf mute.” To Pedro. “Momma’s boy.” Lastly to Melody. “Future dateless wonder.” He pointed a thumb to Pete and me. “And that isn’t even covering Femme-Boy, and a con artist couple’s offspring. You, Becky, are a vegan activist, who has a reputation for being a slut, even though you have never slept with any of those neanderthal jocks. All of you are freaks. That is what people are going to see.” “And your reason for this verbal abuse is?” I inquired. “I’m saying, what you are all trying to do is drive on ice. You’re out of control, and the more you fight it, the worse it will get,” Gary explained. “Steer into the skid. Let people see you all for the freaks you are. Use it and own it.” I thought about what he had said for a moment. Use what people thought of us to our advantage. My eyes wandered out across the grand theatre, up high to the AV room on the balcony. “Hey, Becky, how well does that AV room work?” “Amazingly. The AV room has state of the art equipment. A projector with perfect image clarity. You don’t even need a reel to play it. Cameras could be plugged into it, and project the full footage…” Her lips moved as if she was saying “oh!” but the words never vocalized themselves. “Of course! Josh, that is an amazing idea! That could work. I’ll go get the camera. Everyone head out and choose locations around school. Pete, Gary, Josh and Sarah, you are with me. Remember, if you can get a few friends to volunteer to be part of it, that would be awesome.” “What about costumes?” asked Ivan. “I doubt anyone in this school even knows what A Christmas Carol even is,” said Becky. “They won’t get too particular on costumes.” “Or we could spin it another way,” said Pete. “Me and Josh were talking about last night, and I had a great idea. A modernization. Instead of remaining entirely faithful to the plot of the book, we change it to modern day Bullworth, New England. Scrooge could be Dr. Ebenezer Scrooge, a budget cutting principal who treats all of the teaching staff and students poorly. Jacob Marley could be the former vice principal, who embezzled funds from the school budget. He died under very suspicious circumstances on Christmas day the year before.” “I like that,” said Eunice. Hiding her face behind her book, Sarah let out a yelp that sounded like the word “yes.” “But what will we do about Bob Cratchit?” asked Becky. “We make him Dr. Scrooge’s new vice principal,” I suggested. From behind her book, Sarah muttered a “or the school janitor, living with his family in the janitor’s closet.” “Great idea Sarah,” said Becky. “Dr. Scrooge could be refusing to make good on Bob Cratchit’s health insurance.” “I’ll stay here and make a start on the script,” said Gary, stunning the entire club except for Becky. “What?” “You write?” I asked. “Do you even care?” Gary countered. “Not really,” I admitted. ^^^^ Searching for locations was excruciating. Any where halfway decent presented us with the same snag; a teacher who didn’t want us anywhere near their classroom or peaceful little slice of solitude away from the kids of this school. In the library Mrs. Carvin told us, “You are very much mistaken, if you think for a single moment, I would allow you to defile the library with your chaos and lack of respect for the books within.” In the English classroom, Mr. Galloway clutched hold of his coffee mug as if it were a goblet of nectar, red in the face, staring at us for a few moments as if contemplating our small request. Our answer came as a flat out, “No. Now leave me to drink my… tea.” Becky and I looked to each other, refusing to give up. Our next stop was the teacher’s lounge. Mr. Burton stood at the door, desperately trying to hide a dirty magazine behind his back, while obviously casting a lustful glance over Becky. She squirmed uncomfortably trying not to look him in the eye. That would just complete his sick little fantasy. Pete slipped away down the corridor, and out of sight. “So, Mr. Burton do you agree?” I asked. Looking all flustered, Mr. Burton looked at me as if he hadn’t processed a single word I had said. “Ur…” He coughed, clearing his throat. “What was that?” “Can we use the staff room, to record backgrounds for the school play?” I repeated. “No,” said Mr. Burton. “Unless…” He looked to Becky again. The fire alarm blared down the hallway. Pete returned to my side, looking guilty. Everyone in school evacuated to the parking lot. Even in a state of emergency, the clique boundaries were set, in more than just the kids. Teachers stayed near their cars, talking and in some cases smoking. The Greasers stayed near the gates leading to the auto shop. Bullies, being kings of the parking lot remained near the hollowed out bus. The Nerds stayed in the corner near the bike garages. Jocks were in the thick of it, making sure they took complete center. Preps not wanting to be anywhere near the common folk stayed near the closed gates. Even though their clique status was none existent, the non-clique students remained close knit. There were one or two little groups who seemed to defy the clique rules, but they were none of our concern. A group of girls posing as if cameras were on them. That Hispanic kid I had seen in Blue Skies ducked down behind the front bumper of a car, along with a mean looking girl I had never seen in Bullworth Academy. If I had, I would have remembered. Smoke started billowing from the windows of the staff room. There was no fire, Pete had pulled the alarm, he admitted as much. “How did that happen?” I asked out loud, amongst our little impromptu clique of performing arts kids. “There was no fire.” “No one treats Becky like that,” said Gary, pointing at me as if I had perved on her. “You set the fire?” I said, lowering my voice. There was no lingering look of regret in his eyes at all. “What are you going to do about it?” Gary challenged. “Nothing,” I said. I knew why he protected her. Becky had told me during our afternoon in New Coventry. They grew up together. She was probably the only person he would never screw over, because if he was capable at all of caring for another, he would feel that way towards the one person who showed him compassion. Becky herself joined us, just as the sound of sirens approached in the distance. “I tried again to ask the teachers, but it is a no go.” “Then what do we do?” asked Ivan. “We got nothing. We will go on opening night with no sets. Just us standing on stage in our ordinary clothes, quoting a bunch of lines.” “We will figure something out,” Becky reassured. “What? After this fire, no teacher in the school will get off our backs,” said Ivan, dramatically pointing towards the main building. “We are going about this all wrong,” said Sarah in a quiet voice. All eyes landed on her. She yelped and hid her face behind a beaten old paperback copy of The Great Gatsby. All flustered, she babbled, “Everyone knows… um… the kids…” “I think what Sarah is trying to say,” Pete said, glancing at her smiling. “The kids really run this school. Every clique has their own turf. We go to them.” “That could work,” I said. There we had a plan. A flawed plan that could leave us with nothing. Our first destination was with the Preps. They were arrogant, condescending, but they had the finest building in the whole school. However, we would never get a chance to record anything in Harrington House. We pleaded our case. Sincerely, and politely. Derby Harrington however laughed in our faces. Followed by the echo of his so called brothers, and the girl—and cousin—that he would one day marry. “Simply priceless,” Derby muttered, between laughs. Next we approached the Nerds. The observatory, if made to look just right, could serve as a representation of Scrooge’s home. Earnest however took hold of this little slice of power with both hands, and was certainly not letting go. “Oh how the baton of power is passed! All of you sneer at us. Push us around. Treat us with scorn and contempt. I say nay! Never shall I ever allow any of you into our sanctuary.” Gary shoved him. “You’re going to let us, or else…” We heard the click of weapons that looked a lot like guns, and decided not to stick around to see their function. We retreated to our place on the parking lot defeated. Everything that could go wrong had. I heard a cough. Those three girls approached us. A black girl, looking mighty skimpy dressed for winter. Her black hair swept to the side in a ponytail. Her brown eyes glistened at the sight of the boys in our group. On her ankle was a purple butterfly. To her left was a blonde. She had thick dreadlocks tied up out of her face, decorated with beads. Over a white shirt and paint stained slacks, she wore a teal smock, equally paint stained. To her left was a girl who looked bored, with dyed red hair in a bob. She wore a red cardigan of a white shirt—the only part of the school uniform she gave into, with jeans. On the back of her hand was a tattoo of the sun. They remained in a perfect line. In that exact order from left to right; the flirty dark girl, the dreadlocked blonde, the bored dyed-red head. “You see the flaw in your plan, I see?” said the blonde. “We are doing fine,” I told them. “Oh, honey, no,” said the dyed-red head. “Someone tell them.” The flirty girl said, “To get something, you have to give something. Everyone knows that.” Ignoring us all, or maybe he heard us, Gary looked to the Hispanic kid picking the lock on the boot of Crabblesnitcth’s car. He headed over to him. The two engaged in conversation. All seemed to go well. Watching them was hypnotic. It seemed that someone might actually like and get along with Gary. They concluded their conversation with a fist bump. “See Milo over there?” said Gary, upon his return. “He is going to help us with all the behind the scenes stuff. Curtain pulling. Operating the wire rig and so forth.” “Wow,” I muttered. The rest of my thoughts I kept to myself. “That is perfect,” said Becky. The look on her face implied she wouldn’t be looking forward to working with him. “Do you need someone to work on the wardrobe?” said the dyed-red head. “Paint any possible sets?” said the blonde. “Take pictures for posters, and shamelessly flirt to help you get what you want?” said the darker girl. “Yes,” Becky and I said, at the same time. All three of the girls chorused, “We’re in!” “Kendra Peyton,” said the blonde. “Louisa Lennox,” said the dyed-red head. “Kenzie Young,” said the darker girl. Those descriptions may or may not be true, but that morning, we got something much better than locations. We got a team of kids willing to help. Between us, surely, this play could happen. What we didn’t know at that time, something else had other plans. A snowflake fell from the sky, and landed on my gloved hands. “Huh, it is snowing again,” I muttered. Category:Blog posts Category:WayfinderOwl's Fanfiction